Crossing the T's
by plasticworld
Summary: Sometimes creating a mystery is more fun than solving one. The plot thickens as the Dynamic Duo piece together what happened in her apartment and form a plan of action. Sequel to Dotting the I's, and considers Intervention and Sugarcoated Risks as cannon. Chapter 3 now up!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** The events here take place approximately three hours after Dotting the I's. I highly recommend reading that first. Enjoy.

* * *

Crossing the T's

The uninterrupted sound of haunting violins playing over and over in a continuous loop matched to perfection the steady rising and falling of Richard Castle's chest. With his head tipped down he was making soft whiffling noises that just missed being categorized as snores. His cheek, pressed ever so gently against a crown of soft auburn hair, was faint pink. He was in his favorite spot on the sofa, his right arm outstretched along the back of the cushions, his shoulder acting as a pillow for the woman snuggled against it.

Shifting slightly, Kate Beckett slowly lifted heavy eyelids and blinked rapidly. It took her a moment to reorient herself to the surroundings, to remember where she was and why she was there. It didn't take long for the memories to come sweeping back. Sighing happily, she looked over at the TV and had to suppress a soft chuckle. The main menu of _The Killer_ stood as a pitiful reminder that Castle and she both had fallen asleep before the epic shootout at the church—the grand finale of the John Woo film. She looked back at his still form and a soft, feminine smile lighted on her mouth.

His hair was tousled and floppy but the lines on his face were smooth. Even the crinkles around his eyes were gone, as though Sleep, the magical restorer of beauty, had ferried them away. She couldn't get over the transformation. So this is what living well does for you, she thought, her smile widening. He looks as peaceful as a baby! A swell of emotion rose from the core of her being and fanned out throughout her body and soul. Unable to stop herself, she leaned forward and tenderly placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek.

"I love you," she whispered, and although she couldn't be sure, she thought she saw the corners of his mouth curve up in response. Then, ever so gently, she extracted herself from his arm and the sofa, standing to her feet.

Immediately she felt the muscles in her neck, shoulders, arms and legs tense. A quick frown replaced her smile. I lounged in one position for too long, she realized, her left hand already trying to work out the kink in her neck. Looking around for the throw she had unceremoniously kicked off hours before, she spotted it in a dark heap at the opposite end of the sofa. She picked it up, shook it out, and caringly fitted it around his slumbering frame. Ouch! Even bending over that far hurts, she thought as she squeezed her eyes shut to block out the uncomfortable pain. I'm going to have to walk this off at least until I can get some feeling back into my legs.

Walking behind the couch, she ran her fingers along the spines of the hardback books filling the bookcases lining the wall. Some of them, like Castle's personal bestsellers, had pristine dust jackets, their large, embossed letters triggering a tactile friction with the ridges of her fingertips. Others were leather-bound, rich in color as well as texture. Leaning forward to read their titles, she smiled in appreciation. For all of his whimsy and imagination, when it came to his literary collection, he was a purest. Only the classics, like Shakespeare, Ovid, Homer, and—was that _Narnia_?—got the leather treatment. The rest of the books, though not quite fillers, gave off a middle-class appearance; though hardback like the rest, these were bereft of coverings, like Adam and Eve before the Fall in the Garden of Eden.

Leaning in for a closer look, she squinted to read the title of one, the light emanating from the TV providing just enough illumination for her to make out the words. A soft, muffled noise of surprise rose to her lips before she stifled it with a hand clasped over her mouth.

From somewhere deep within her a giggle fought its way to the surface. How like him is that? I bet he's had this book since he was a kid! She cast a quick glance at his still-sleeping form and breathed a sigh of relief. Her giggle hadn't awoken him. Darting her eyes back to the book in question, she gingerly slid it out of its place and turned it cover up to examine it thoroughly. _Encyclopedia Brown, Boy Detective_. Shaking her head, her eyes danced in delighted wonder as she flipped it open to the flyleaf. Then, realizing something was scrawled on it, she angled the book toward the light to read what was written.

_For Richard,_

_Thank you for your personal note. It isn't often I have the pleasure of hearing from an intelligent fan such as yourself. You have a gift with words. Use it well. And remember, sometimes solving a mystery isn't as much fun as creating one._

_ Donald J. Sobel 1981_

"1981. Castle couldn't have been more than ten or twelve!" she whispered in awe. It's just like him to write a fan letter to an author. Her hazel eyes sparkled. There's so much I don't know about him, she admitted to herself. I wonder how many other books he has that are signed, how many other authors he took the time to write to? Giving a soft sigh, she returned the book to its place, turned away from the bookcase and, after making sure she hadn't disturbed him, made her way into his office.

Perhaps it was all her years of training that compelled her to investigate his inner sanctum with such care. Perhaps it was a personal goal to turn the tables on him, to dig into _his _life, to give him a taste of his own medicine which made her scrutinize every inch of his working space. Perhaps it was merely curiosity which led her to switch on the desk lamp for a better view of the silver-framed family photos arranged in a cluster on the right side of his desk. It could have been any of those things, but it wasn't. The truth was simpler than that: She was as drawn to his environment as she was to him.

Kate picked up the framed picture of his family, the one with Martha and Alexis both giving him the kind of squeeze a man deserves when he's either done something so wrong he knows he's in for it the moment the shutter on the camera closes, or he's done something so wonderfully right the _only_ appropriate reaction is a bear hug. With Castle, both scenarios were plausible. It was that perfect dichotomy she loved so much. One minute he was the rascal, the one purposefully pulling her pigtails or encouraging his own teenage daughter to "live a little," and in the next he was the responsible adult, using real ingenuity and intelligence to help her solve cases, the caring father losing sleep worrying for fear something horrible might happen to his pride and joy. Never knowing what Castle would say or do kept Kate on her toes and provoked a polarizing love-hate emotional response.

Setting the picture back where she found it, she was just about to turn away from the desk when something else in the cluster caught her attention. There, hidden behind a tri-fold collection of Alexis' senior pictures, was a smaller, wooden frame. Biting her lower lip, she debated with herself for the span of a heartbeat before curiosity got the better of her. She cautiously lifted the picture, careful not to accidently knock any of the others over. Then, as realization hit her, she drew in her breath sharply.

It's a picture of me! Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, suspended in surprised disbelief. But how the hell did he get it? I certainly never gave it to him. Her brows furrowed together as she mentally reviewed all of the times he had barged into her apartment. Never once had she shown him this shot. In fact, the only time he had looked at photographs with her was when she had gone through the few snapshots on the roll of film she'd developed after her mother's murder.

That's not entirely true, she reminded herself. There was that time he came over to ask—okay, _tell_—me about the Johanna Beckett Foundation. He really took me by surprise that night. After everything we went through with that lottery-winner case he was eager to speculate how I'd spend a million dollars. She laughed softly as she remembered some of his wild guesses. And then he went and did something wonderful to honor my mother. Unexpectedly her eyes filled with tears. He really was very sweet. After he pitched me the idea I caved in and went through some of my family pictures with him. We were looking for one particular picture of Mom, but I suppose it's possible he might have snagged this photo of me while I was distracted.

The picture itself was a flattering one. Taken several years earlier, she looked not only younger, but less world-weary as though the sucker punches life had thrown at her hadn't landed yet. But there were still traces of sadness in her expression, especially in her haunted hazel eyes, which belied the happiness her smile was giving off. Lanie took this one, she reminded herself. She insisted it was a good picture so I made sure to give a copy to—

Her eyes snapped and her mouth compressed into a straight line. Dad. Oh, Dad, you've got some 'splaining to do! Since when are my father and Rick Castle hanging out and sharing pictures with each other! More importantly, why is it hiding on Castle's desk?

The answer to the first question needed further investigation, the second was more straightforward. Castle obviously wanted a picture of his muse on hand when he wrote. In that, Kate couldn't really fault him. After all, every writer liked to have prompts nearby in case the dreaded "blank page" struck. What was it Castle called it? She replaced the picture and sighed. Not writer's block . . . _Writer's embarrassment_!

When she had first read that in the Q&A section of his website, she had been thoroughly amused. Only Castle would phrase it that way then launch into an encouraging explanation of what he meant. Oh, how she had wanted to tease him about that! But she hadn't brought it up. She never brought up things she'd read on his website, or the others about him. To do so would reveal way too much about herself. It was bad enough he knew just how big a fan she was—of his_ books_.

"Okay, so it isn't just his books," she muttered under her breath, turning to look at his extensive action figure collection housed on shelves which wrapped around two walls of his office. More than just toys, his collection was an impressive one dating all the way back to his childhood. Some of the figures she recognized right away, like the vintage set of Batman characters which were obviously inspired by the cult television series. Other figures she didn't recognize, which meant they must have come from more obscure comic books. Although she considered herself a fan of the genre, she was cognizant of the fact his knowledge far surpassed hers. Shaking her head, she was struck again by the paradox he presented her. Childish enough to have saved his action figures, yet adult enough to have kept them in pristine condition on display, it was again another example of his being the man-child she adored.

I love his office, she decided, an unconscious smile lighting her face. Every inch of it screams his personality. Her eyes scanned the rest of the room, taking in the rejection letter he kept deliberately in full view of his desk, the vintage comic strip he had matted and framed (and signed, although she couldn't tell that in the low lighting), and, of course, his larger-than-life murder board. Shaking her head again, she couldn't help but chuckle. Leave it to Castle to get all the latest electronic toys, too. I bet that's the same model we have at the precinct. They _have_, she reminded herself. _They_ have it, you don't.

Turning away from the large monitor and her tumultuous thoughts, she faced the shelves of action figures again. So it was that she had her back to the doorway and thus failed to notice when a shadowy figure loomed up. She didn't notice him leaning against the door frame, didn't see him cock his head to the side as he observed her, didn't notice the light dancing in his eyes or the grin spreading across his face. Instead, her attention was focused on a group of toys she thought might be Godzilla monsters. Moving forward to get a closer look, she was unaware of the picture she made as she tucked her hair behind her ear, stooped down and reached out with her right hand to pick it up.

"Unt-uh," the man in the doorway said, causing her literally to jump, "No touching!"

She wheeled around, her heart thudding rapidly in her throat. "Castle! What the hell!"

Causally detaching himself from the door frame, he flipped the light switch. The room flooded with bright searing light which caused them both to jerk their heads back then blink furiously.

"So, Beckett . . ." he said, his eyes sweeping her in an admiring glance as a lopsided smile fell across his face.

"I was just—" she started at the same time then broke off as her face flamed red with embarrassment. So cool, she admonished herself. Because blushing isn't a dead giveaway or anything. Way to go, Beckett!

Laughing, he came to stand beside her. "I missed you," he said by way of explanation. "You left."

She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. "I didn't leave. I got stiff; I had to walk around a bit."

He nodded his understanding. "So you decided it was the perfect opportunity to snoop."

"'Snooping' isn't a good word, Castle," she informed him, her voice taking on a matter-of-fact tone. "'Investigating.' That's a better word."

"Uh-huh. I own a thesaurus, too, you know. Let's try—'_prying_.'"

"No," she insisted, "I may have been '_exploring_,' but I certainly wasn't 'prying.'"

"'Exploring.' Is that what you're going with? Because I can play this game all day long, my dear detective," he teased, his eyes twinkling. "You're in my bailiwick now." He waved his arms dramatically to emphasize his point. "Literally. Besides, I think the word you're trying to find is 'spying.'"

She opened her mouth to protest, her eyes narrowing into slits as she placed her hands on her hips. "I'm not the one who has some explaining to do."

He recognized that look. That was the expression she used when she was in the Box, when she was interrogating suspects. A lump formed in his throat as he momentarily wondered how he had gone from solid footing to sinking sand in under thirty seconds. Involuntarily taking a step back, he said, "I don't know what you mean."

She was in her element now. "I think you know exactly what I mean. But, since you want to play dumb, I'll indulge you. What are you doing with a Barbie doll?"

"A Barbie do— She's _not_ a _doll_! She's an _action_ figure!"

"Really. An action figure? Come on, Castle! Batman is an action figure. Morgenstern is an action figure." She bent down, plucked the doll from the clutches of the Godzilla monster and stood again. "This is a doll."

"Well— It's not what— That is to say—" She hit him with her pointed look, the one which said she had all the evidence she needed to put him away for life. "She isn't a _Barbie_!"

Beckett looked down at the doll in her hand. The blonde, who was suspiciously dressed in an inappropriately indecent, low-cut tank top and even more scandalizingly short miniskirt, was not, as Castle was insisting, a genuine Barbie. A line cut between her brows as she scowled. Her hazel eyes bored into his blue ones. "She may not be an actual Barbie, but that doesn't mean you're off the hook for an explanation."

Gingerly reaching out a hand for his prized possession, Castle took the doll from her and smoothed down its hair. "She really is an action figure. I was using her as Nikki Heat."

Uh, probably shouldn't have said that, he kicked himself as once again a fierce expression descended on her face. I don't know what's worse: being caught with a doll or admitting said doll is a place-holder for my character!

She moved closer to him, leaning in with a finger pointed right at his nose. "You had better be joking, Castle! In the first place, Nikki Heat would never—and I mean _never_—wear something like this! And in the second place, she doesn't even _look_ like this! And putting her in the clutches of a man-eating lizard! Come on!"

"She was undercover and the evil Draco found out. It's called a 'plot device.' I can't get her out of a jam or let Rook race in to save her if she's not in danger."

Her eyes narrowed again. "Why is it Nikki has to be saved by a man anyway? Isn't that stereotypical?"

He frowned as her point hit home.

Seeing his expression, she pushed even harder. Invading his space, she met and held his eyes as she attacked, "She looks like a _hooker_! Castle, you promised me you wouldn't do this to her. You _promised_!"

"I was mad at you!" he sputtered, his eyes wild and searching, looking for an escape. Then realizing what he had said, he clapped his hand over his mouth.

She stepped back, all of the menace gone. "What?"

"Kate," he breathed, setting the doll on a nearby shelf, "I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I deleted the scene. I did. And I'm not mad anymore."

Her eyes were filled with hurt bewilderment as she studied his face. "I don't understand. If you were mad at me, why would you take it out on your character?"

He sighed. "Can't we forget I said anything?"

She shook her head. "I really want to know."

"Okay." He shot his hands through his hair as he tried to organize his thoughts. Now that the subject was open for discussion, he wanted to handle it the right way. First things first, he told himself, get her out of the office and into space where she won't be able to pick up sharp objects and throw them at you. "Why don't we go back into the other room?"

Taking the hand he offered her, she allowed him to lead her back into the den. He deposited her back on the sofa but didn't join her until he had turned off the television and switched on the surrounding floor lamps. If this was going to be Serious Talk #2, he wanted to be able to read her expressions as clearly as possible.

"That's better," he grunted as he took his seat beside her. She was still a little wide-eyed, so he smiled to reassure her. "Are you sure you want to go into this right now?"

"I'm sure," she told him, and her voice _did_ sound steady and confident. "I want this to work between us, Castle. If it means we have to wade through the muck to get there, then I'll put on my galoshes and wade right in."

He laughed, his deep blue eyes lightening as the mental image of her slipping into rubbers flashed through his mind. Then in a voice seasoned with gravity, he assured, "You won't have to wade through it alone. We're partners. No matter what."

Smiling, she leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Thank you." Then moving back into her own space again, she crossed her arms and leveled her gaze at his face. "Okay. You first. Why were you mad at me, and why did you put Nikki Heat in that ridiculous outfit?"

He scratched his head. "I—uh, I was mad at you because I'd just found out that—" He broke off and looked at her helplessly.

"I'm waiting," she prompted, a hint of humor lurking in her hazel eyes. In the lamp-lit room, they were a smoky green. Mesmerizing.

"God, you're so beautiful," he whispered, unable to stop the compliment from spilling out.

"Castle, focus!" she commanded.

"Right. Why was I mad? Why _was_ I mad? Oh, right. I was mad at you because you lied to me. You let me believe for months—almost a year!—you didn't remember anything from your shooting, that you didn't hear me tell you I love you. And it hurt. It hurt so, so much, Beckett."

She noted his use of her last name. Beckett, not Kate. That's a good thing, she told herself. He's purposefully trying to keep from being too sweet. The relief that he was willing to tell her the truth without smothering her in sentimentality helped her deal with the emotional fallout.

Now that he was talking, the words tumbled out. As he told her about arriving late to the precinct, of depositing the coffee and learning she was already in the Box with their suspect, he drew back into his own space on the sofa. He described his admiration of her tactics, her no-nonsense approach to the suspect. And then he told her what he had overheard.

She winced, but didn't deny it. My guess was right; it _was _that case. Damn it! I wish I'd told him the truth, right from the start. Don't go down that rabbit hole again, she cautioned herself. Nodding slowly more to herself than for his benefit, she broached a question. "Is that why you've been pulling away these last six weeks? Because you thought—"

"I thought, if you remembered and hadn't said anything, it was obvious you didn't feel the same way," he told her, his expression grim as the old hurt resurfaced. "So I acted—" he sighed then pressed on, "I acted out like a five-year-old. I put distance between us. I couldn't face the pain of hearing you tell me that these past four years hadn't meant anything to you."

She involuntarily put out a hand. "But Castle, they meant so much!"

He forced his voice to sound light. "I know that now, Kate, but I didn't know it then. You told me that day on the swing you needed time to take down your wall. You made it sound like you wanted it down so you could be in a relationship with _me_. But hearing what you said in the Box, I realized it was just wishful thinking on my part."

"No!" she cut in, "That's not true! It wasn't wishful thinking, Castle." She shot her fingers through her hair. "This is my fault. I've never been that person who communicates her feelings and emotions well. I'm not wired like you," she paused, searching his eyes, begging him to understand, "I've always been closed off like that, even before my mother died." She bit her lower lip, her eyes darting side to side before she admitted, "You have to understand, Rick, as a female detective, I have to present a certain image. I can't be soft, emotional, or vulnerable. I have to be tough and strong, even more than Esposito or Ryan do. And while I love hanging out, chilling with my guys, I can't share locker room talk with them. You've been in the precinct; you know how fast rumors fly."

He frowned, following the logic of what she was saying.

"So I learned way back when I was a rookie to downplay my personal feelings, to get them sorted out and in control, before I shared. Do you know the only person who has ever pushed me to open up is Lanie? And the only reason—the _only reason_—I admitted how I felt to her is because she's like a bulldog with a bone! I know her; she'd make up something to tell Espo if I didn't tell her the truth."

"You told Lanie how you feel about me?" his voice was filled with surprise. "When was that?"

She looked down at her hands, mumbled, "The same night you brought that flight attendant to the crime scene. I was going to tell you then how I felt about you." Her eyes swept up to his face, her brow still creased with anxiety. "Lanie and I were having a girls' night thing, and I—I asked her for advice. I wanted to know if I should just tell you outright how I felt, or if I should put it off until . . . But then you roared up in your Ferrari with that blonde and Lanie told me to wait."

"Kate," he said her name softly, tenderly. "Look at me."

She shook her head. "So many missed opportunities, Castle. So many chances I let go. I just didn't understand what I had done wrong. I tried to talk to you about it, to tell you I was taking down that damned wall, but you— I was terrified I'd waited too long." Cautiously raising her eyes back to his face, she deliberately kept them veiled under a fringe of dark lashes. "Please, _please_ tell me I didn't wait too long."

Reading the pain, the fear in her face, he did the only thing he could think of. Carefully gathering her into his arms so as not to touch the bruises, he pressed his lips hard on hers. Then, as one emotion after another tore through him, he drew her closer, his mouth trailing kisses from her eyes to her nose, to the pulse point at her throat, back to her mouth. Deepening the kiss, he was thrilled as she responded with a soft, urgent little sound that was just about the most erotic thing he had ever heard in his entire life. Her arms wound around his neck as she finally turned her face away.

"I love you," he told her quietly, sincerely. "And I was a damned fool. I told you I was a royal jackass. I brought that woman around to punish you because I was being petty. And I wouldn't talk with you because I was afraid you were going to shoot me down once and for all. I couldn't handle the rejection. But I never stopped loving you." He kissed her again before she could respond.

This time she returned his kiss with a passionate fervor all her own. Then abruptly he released her and sat back. "Castle?"

He forced the lump which had formed in his throat back down. "Sorry," he apologized, "I didn't mean to get so carried away. I—you're stiff and sore and—I need to be more in control. Honestly, Kate, I'm trying really hard not to scoop you up, carry you back to bed, and ravage your body as we speak."

He stood to his feet and, moving to the free space between the sofa and the television, began to pace. "Here we are, in the midst of a very important conversation, and all I can think about is taking away your apprehension and doubts."

Overwhelmed by his honesty and tenderness, she felt herself at a total loss. Running her right hand through her hair, she took a deep breath then blew it out slowly. He stopped moving to study her more intently.

"Have I scared you off?"

Her startled eyes flew to his anxious ones. "No! No, of course not! And I—" she broke off suddenly before adding lamely, "Thank you."

"Thank you?" he parroted, confusion clearly imprinted in his tone. "Thank you for what?"

"For being sweet."

He gave her his signature Castle grin. "So I'm allowed to be sweet again? What a relief! Do you know how hard it is being mean to you, especially on purpose?"

A laugh, from somewhere deep within her, erupted. "Yeah, right! That from the man who spent the last four years dreaming up new and inventive ways to torment me? Come on, Castle!"

"I wasn't being deliberately cruel," he retorted, "I was flirting!"

She snorted. "If you tell me every hell you've put me through for the last four years has been nothing but foreplay, I swear, I will leave this loft, go straight back to my apartment, grab my personal glock, hunt you down and put three rounds in your chest."

He pretended to pout but his eyes and voice gave him away. "There is something so incredibly hot and sexy about you when you threaten physical violence, Beckett. For the record, I still would love a demonstration on all the ways you know how to use handcuffs."

She rolled her eyes. "Sorry to disappoint you, Castle, but I had to turn those in along with my badge and gun."

His eyes twinkled as he teased, "Not a problem. As it turns out, I have a set."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Pretending to be offended, he huffed, "What is that supposed to mean? I'll have you know that purchase was made in the name of research. I think I even managed to write the damned thing off! Huh, I'll have to check with Steve on that. I might not have, although I'm sure I saved the receipt . . ." he stopped chattering as he caught sight of her expression. "Not the point."

"Also not happening," she quipped and had the satisfaction of seeing his face fall. Then deciding to throw him a bone, she lowered her voice to a throaty whisper and said suggestively, "We have to save _something_ for the honeymoon, don't we?"

He felt a warm flush start at the roots of his hair and spread to the tips of his toes. Kate wouldn't make that kind of comment unless she meant it, he told himself, strangely more excited by her use of the word '_honeymoon_' than the idea of being handcuffed and at her mercy. Does that mean she's thinking about this relationship in terms of forever? He shot her a quick look and amended his word choice. Not forever—for _always_.

"Kate," he began, and for all the lightness in his tone, he was being very serious. "We have to talk about where we're going and about what happens next."

"I know," she said softly, her eyes never leaving his face.

"So . . ." he came to sit beside her again, but made no move to touch her. He just didn't trust himself to remain in control if they made any sort of bodily contact. "You first."

"I said it all at your door," she told him, and any doubts or insecurities she may have had earlier in the night were gone. On this one point she was certain. "I want you. I want to be a part of your life, Rick. I want to share my life with you, every step of the way."

"I want that too," he told her fervently, balling his hands into fists to keep from pulling her back into his arms again. The need to hold her close was quickly becoming an ache in his chest. Sighing, he confessed, "I don't want to mess this up, Kate. And I know if something happens here, between us, it will inevitably be my fault."

She frowned, not liking that comment at all. "What makes you say that?"

"Experience."

"That's ridiculous! Castle, you can't automatically take the fall for something that a) hasn't happened, and b) will probably be my fault. I don't want to go into this relationship expecting it to fail. If that's your outlook, I need to know that right now."

His eyes were filled with apology. Looking into them, she was struck by just how much worry and fear she saw in their depths. A momentary silence fell between them as they each became lost in their thoughts.

Why does he allow himself to go there, she wondered, her heart smarting. Is it because of his two failed marriages? He shouldn't blame himself; it takes two to make a marriage last. Meredith cheated on him. With Alexis in the picture, he did the right, mature, responsible thing and removed his daughter from that influence. I don't know why the marriage with Gina failed. He's never specifically said and I didn't want to ask. But neither of them wanted to put in the work to repair what was broken. That doesn't mean if something happens between _us_, he'll walk away.

Castle's thoughts were also on his previous marriages. Although he never once regretted raising Alexis as a single father and would gladly do it again, he knew his marriage to Meredith had been a mistake. They had both been so young, so self-focused. As his star had started to rise and Meredith had struggled to land parts, they had drifted away from each other. He had underestimated her drive for success and what she was willing to do to accomplish it and she had underestimated his character and what he was willing to forgive.

It was different with Gina, he reminded himself. We always blew hot and cold! I truly made a lot of mistakes in that relationship. In addition to cutting her out of a relationship with Alexis, I deluded myself into believing Gina was something she wasn't. That wasn't fair to her or me. And although she isn't without her faults, I still hold myself responsible for that disaster of a marriage. His troubled eyes studied the beautiful face across from him. But it doesn't follow I'll make the same mistakes with Kate. I love her so damned much!

The first to break the silence, he stated, "I'm going to take a chance and lay all my cards on the table, Beckett." She looked at him with a question in the recesses of her hazel eyes, but she didn't interrupt. "I want you here, with me. I want the right to comfort you, the right to protect you, the right to see you be vulnerable. I want the right to scold you, to praise you, to hold you. I want you to tease me, to tempt me, to _threaten_ me. I want you to know every last one of my flaws and still love me. I want to grow old with you. I want to give you my name."

They looked at each other, his words filling the space between them. She was finding it hard to breathe. Her heart, racing at the speed of sound, was threatening to burst out of her chest. He wants to marry me, she thought in awe, struck yet again by the depth of his love for her. He lifted his left hand to her face and caressed her cheek. Two tears spilled out and ran down her face. Catching them with his hand, he gently brushed them away.

"Now you know what I want out of this relationship, Kate," he said softly, his voice barely audible. "I love you. I don't care how long you need, how many more bricks we have to take out of your wall to get there. I don't want to rush you or make you feel pressured in any way."

She nodded, still finding it difficult to catch her breath. "I don't want to rush, either." Chuckling almost to herself, she informed him, "The truth is, Castle, I kinda want to be courted. I know it sounds cheesy and completely archaic, but there it is. Dad always said when he saw my mom for the first time he knew she was something special. He told me he took his time, purposely developed a friendship and built a trust with her first, before he ever asked her out on a date. He told me how much fun they had over the course of their courtship, how they teased and flirted all the while doing fun things." She drew in a quick breath then rushed on, "We already have the friendship and trust part down, Castle. Before we head off into the sunset, before we get to our happily-ever-after, I want the awkward dinner dates, the fun activities, the floral bouquets, the chocolates. I even want the adorably stupid stuffed animals like the red and black bee holding a heart that says 'Bee mine!' I want stories to tell our children which don't revolve around our banter at a crime scene."

He laughed at that. "Oh, I don't know, Beckett. Some of my one-liners were good enough to put in my books."

She rolled her eyes. "Please! 'My first _cold case_,'" she intoned, her voice purposefully mocking as she quoted his quip from one of their first cases together.

He grimaced. "I _knew_ you thought that was too soon. Okay, so banter isn't really my strong suit. But you have to admit, our children are going to love hearing how we build theory together."

She laughed outright. "You're kidding, aren't you? Castle, your idea of building theory, no matter what the crime, is to assume someone from every case is connected to the CIA."

"And guess who was finally right," he said triumphantly. "Who has two thumbs and picked a winner? This guy!"

"So, when you mentioned my knowing all your flaws just now, I assume you were including your propensity for gloating?"

"Touché." His blue eyes sparkled in amusement, his mouth curving up at the corners. "Okay, I acquiesce. We'll go on real, bona fide dates. I'll buy you chocolates and teddy bears and flowers. And we'll create moments to share with our future chil—" He broke off as another thought occurred to him. "Say, Beckett? How many children do you want to have?"

She shook her head, teased, "Let's cross that bridge when we get there. As my mom would say, don't put the cart before the horse."

"Now who's being cliché?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "We have plenty of time to discuss that later. There are more important issues to discuss right now."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Such as?"

Smiling, she started counting them off, using her fingers for emphasis. "When do we tell everyone about our relationship? How do we handle the media attention that is sure to come? Which of us is going to tell Lanie . . . ?"

"You are," he inserted quickly. "You have to. If she hears it from anyone else, she'll do something rash, like attack you with some of those drugs she keeps in the freezer down in the morgue." He gave a mock shudder. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you, Honey."

"Castle, stop right there."

He looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"Honey doesn't work for me. It's too—_syrupy_. I don't like it."

But it fits her so well, his mind protested. "What do you want me to call you? Sugar?" Glaring at him, her mouth set in a straight line. She wasn't fooling around. "Sweet Pea?"

"You do and you die. Simple as that, _Kitten_." She had the satisfaction of seeing him cringe. "No food names."

"No animal names."

"Fine," she agreed, "So long as we understand each other."

"I would like to point out Alexis has never minded being called 'pumpkin,'" he asserted, his eyes clouding momentarily. "And every once and awhile I get away with calling Mother a tart."

"That's horrible!" she exclaimed, punching his arm. "That's terrible! Your own mother! You shouldn't call Martha that!"

He shrugged. "Sometimes the shoe fits, my dear detective."

"I like that one," she said softly, reaching for his hand. "I like _my dear detective_. It—it fits."

"Only you're not that anymore," he reminded her, his eyes troubled and anxious, afraid he'd pressed too hard on an open wound.

"You're wrong," she told him, and to his relief she didn't seem the least bit upset. "I'm no longer a cop. I will always be a detective."

He studied her for a long minute. At length he said, "You're right; it's part of who you are. You couldn't any more stop being a detective than I could stop being a writer. It's in your DNA." His eyes smiled down at her as his mouth curved up into a boyish smile. "As we have ample proof, even tonight."

She feigned innocence. Extracting her hand, she said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Let me refresh your memory. Under the guise of 'stretching your stiff muscles,'" he made air quotes, "you sneak into my office and proceed to—what was the word we finally settled on? Ah, yes!—_spy_ on me. You rifled through my desk drawers, didn't you?"

"I did not!" she said indignantly. "And for the record, '_spying_' is a terrible word to use. If I were spying on you, I'd be watching you. I'd be watching your activities, not searching your belongings."

"That's a 'stakeout,' actually," he said smugly then noticed her death glare and quickly rushed on. "Okay, so 'spying' isn't the best word, but you get my point. You still took the time to investigate me. And why? Because you're still a _detective_, and it's what you do."

"That wasn't why I did it," she admitted, her voice soft and low.

"What?"

Her cheeks flamed a delicate pink, but she tabled her embarrassment and finished her confession. "I didn't want to wake you up but I missed you. Looking over your space made me feel close to you." Then, as memory brought with it the image of her picture sitting on his desk, she narrowed her eyes and demanded, "Just where the hell did you get the picture of me anyway? I certainly didn't give it to you."

"What picture?" he asked innocently, stalling as long as he could while he tried to come up with a viable explanation. He sorted through and discarded at least six before her intense scrutiny demanded an answer. "Oh. _That_ picture."

"Yes," she agreed, "_That_ picture. Care to enlighten me?"

"I'll plead the Fifth," he said, holding up both hands to shield himself from her glare, "on the grounds I might incriminate myself."

"Dad," she said, looking smug, "I was _right_."

"You knew about that?" he asked, his eyes wide in disbelief. "I can't believe he would betray me like that!"

She grinned wickedly at him. "He didn't."

"Oh. Oh, I see what you just did there. You just made me confess to something by . . . You think you're pretty slick, don't you, Sugarplum?"

"Castle, _food_!" she growled, her voice a stern reminder she would not tolerate any edible term of endearment.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Uh-huh. Just for that, you now have the sole honor and privilege of telling Alexis about your intentions, _my pet_."

He squirmed in his seat. "You mean you aren't going to be there with me? You're going to throw me right to the wolf? Don't you love me at all?"

More than you know, she assured him silently, but aloud she said gently, "Come on, Baby, you make it sound like you're afraid of your own daughter." Then as another thought occurred to her, she added, "Unless you know something I don't. Alexis isn't going to be wild about this idea, is she?"

Scowling at herself, she bit her lower lip as once again a wave of uncertainty crashed on the rocky shoreline of her mind. Although she was tired of the tidal pools of insecurity and doubt taking form in her brain, the last thing in the world she wanted to do was force Castle into the untenable position of having to choose between the daughter he adored and the woman he loved.

Sensing some of what she was feeling, he frowned. "Of course she'll be pleased! Alexis loves and respects you, Kate. More importantly, she knows how I feel about you. She'll be supportive." Of course, it may take her a while to come around, he cautioned himself silently, but I'm confident she'll be cool with it. And if not, like Kate said, I'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I love Alexis, but I'm not willing to let Kate walk out of my life. Not ever again.

"Then that's settled," she said at last. "I'll tell Lanie; you'll break it to Alexis and Martha."

He screwed up his face in horror. "You never said anything about telling my mother."

She laughed. "She's going to get wise to the situation sooner or later, Castle. She _does_ live under your roof, remember?"

"Thanks for reminding me," he said sourly. "And that's another thing I want out of this relationship: I want us to make a home together—_without_ my mother."

"We will," she promised, "but not yet."

He brightened. "What about the boys? Are you going to leave it to Lanie?"

She rolled her eyes and snorted. "You can't be serious, Castle. I'm going to ask Lanie to keep it to herself for now. At least until we sort out some of the logistics."

"Ooh, I love it when you talk strategy," he teased, winking at her.

"Castle, focus!"

"Right. Sorry. You were saying?"

"Like I said earlier, if one person at the 12th knows something, everyone will know by the end of the day. So, I don't want Espo or Ryan to know until we're ready to go public."

He frowned. "You want to keep our relationship clandestine? But Beckett, you don't work there anymore. What does it matter if they—"

"No," she asserted, "But you're still free to shadow them. You don't really want Gates to have more fodder to use against you, do you?"

"You don't honestly think I'll go back if you're not there. Kate, I've been writing procedurals for a long time now. I think I know the way the NYPD operates. I don't need to follow Ryan and Esposito around. They aren't my muse. You are."

"Okay," she sighed, "then let me put it this way—we'll tell Lanie out of self-preservation and Alexis and Martha out of necessity. But we wait on everyone else. Agreed?"

"Any particular reason?"

Through her mind flashed the flyleaf of the _Encyclopedia Brown_ book. "Uh-huh. Sometimes it's more fun to create a mystery than to solve one."

A curious light flared behind his brilliant blue eyes as he caught his breath. Tilting his head to the side, he considered her thoughtfully before he asked, "Do any reading _before_ you went in my office, Doll?"

"Maybe," she hedged, her eyes dancing in mischief. "I've been known to read. I have a particular fascination with mysteries."

"Do you now? Any particular authors stick out to you?"

She leaned forward, giving him a seductive, sultry smile. "There's one _particular_ author I'm _crazy_ about." Deliberately running her left hand down his right arm, she widened her eyes invitingly. Then she bit her lower lip in that way that tempted him to lose all control and smother her with kisses.

"You-you're cr-crazy about one— Wait, who are we talking about? You _are_ crazy about me, aren't you? Because I thought for a minute you'd read . . ." He trailed off as his eyes darted to his bookcase. "It's just that I have an autographed copy of a book over there, and the author wrote something similar, and—"

"Shh, Castle," she purred, wrapping her arms about his neck. "Now isn't the time for you to play amateur sleuth."

He encircled her in his arms and pulled her closer. "You're playing with fire, Kate."

Before he could guess her intention, she closed in further and kissed him. Long, deep lingering kisses on warm, eager lips. His arms tightened around her, pulled her to his chest. Then abruptly she pushed back from him. With her gaze never wavering from his face, a slow smile started in the back of her hazel green eyes before gradually transforming her face.

It was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Unable to tear his eyes from her face, he memorized her expression, filing every detail away for later circumspection. Someday, he promised himself, I'm going to get a picture of her looking like that.

"You're staring, Castle. Again."

He laughed to hide the fact her smile, her expression, her _kisses_ had robbed him of his voice. Shaking his head, he said, "Guilty. I'd better let you in on something right now, Kate. When you smile like that everything else in the world disappears. Just falls away. And I get lost. My thoughts, my _words_ vanish."

"Then I'd better let you in on something, too," she said quietly, her voice like music, soft and sweet and melodic.

The lump he thought had dissolved was back in his throat. Willing it away, he swallowed hard. "What's that?"

Her mouth curved invitingly, teasingly. But she was serious when she said, "I love you."

* * *

Thoughts? Want the story to continue? Let me know . . .


	2. Building a Mystery

Building a Mystery

"Will I do?" Kate Beckett turned a full three-hundred-sixty degrees for Castle to see. "Do I look presentable?"

He swept her in one long, fully appraising glance. "Oh, you'll do," he told her earnestly, his eyes coming to rest on her face. Even without makeup she was stunningly beautiful. "Definitely presentable. No one seeing you like this would guess that just a few hours ago you were modeling someone else's pajamas."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Thanks for tossing my clothes in the dryer. I don't know _why_ it didn't occur to me to—"

"Come in out of the rain?" he offered, his blue eyes dancing as a lopsided smile fell across his face.

Shaking her head, she disagreed, "No, not that. I know why I stayed out in the elements." Despite their two serious conversations over the course of the evening and early morning, she had yet to tell him what she was doing out in the rain. There were hundreds of things she wanted to tell him, each one competing for the opportunity to pop out first. But instead of addressing the topic under discussion, she decided to go with the light touch. "What I can't understand is why I didn't bother to toss them in the machine as soon as I got out of the shower." She laughed at herself. "Or why I didn't go home to change before I came over here in the first place."

"It doesn't matter, Kate," he told her softly, coming over to stand beside her. "You came over drenched. That's all there is to it. I'm just glad you chose to wear machine-wash clothes yesterday. You'd be in serious trouble if you'd gone with dry clean only."

He opened his arms in invitation and she only hesitated a moment before stepping into them. As she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder she indulged herself with a deep breath, breathing in his unique, intoxicating scent. No one smells like he does, she told herself. Delicious, masculine, strong. With just a hint of recklessness and adventure. Like everything else about him, a paradox. She closed her eyes, treasuring the fleeting moment.

Castle smiled as he pressed his lips to her soft auburn hair. "Stay, Beckett. There's so much I still want to say to you, so much I want to—"

She lifted her head from his shoulder and shook it. "Can't, Castle. I have somewhere to be this morning."

He frowned. How can she have somewhere to be? he wondered, puzzled as much by her desire to leave as by her mysterious destination. It's Sunday morning, for God's sake. Everyone who is anyone is sleeping in. Hell, most shops and restaurants don't even open until eleven. Studying her with open, wondering eyes, he finally broached the question foremost in his mind. "Where are you going?"

She laughed. "Really, Castle? Am I going to have to start giving you my personal itinerary every time I go somewhere?"

His frown deepened as he sighed. "No, that's not what I meant. It's just that—"

"I understand," she said softly. I really do, she added silently. You're worried about me. You're worried I might still be in danger. You're worried last night was last night, that I might not come back at all. One look at his troubled eyes confirmed her theories. Aloud she said, "You don't have to worry about me."

"Can't help it," he told her sweetly, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "And for the record, I don't have to know your whereabouts every time we're separated. I really _did_ learn my lesson with Alexis and the cellphone." He smiled briefly but it didn't reach his eyes. "But with Maddox on the loose I can't help but be concerned, Beckett. Maybe I should come with you, at least to your apartment. If everything checks out, if there aren't any signs he's been there, I'll be able to relax. I might even be able to let you out of my sight for a few hours."

"What about Alexis? Didn't you tell me she's due back around lunchtime?"

He grinned at her. "Believe it or not, Kate, I don't actually answer to my daughter. But even if I did, we're just going over to your place. It shouldn't take us _that_ long."

She extracted herself from his arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "If I let you come with me to my apartment, do you _promise_ to let me go, _on my own_, to run some errands? 'Cause I'm here to tell you, I don't intend to be attached to your hip every waking second."

He stepped away from her and shoved his hands in his pockets. She isn't asking all that much, he realized, knowing how much it must have taken for her to compromise enough to invite him to join her. Besides, I know her. If I push too hard, come on too strong, she'll bolt.

Making his decision, he said in a deep, quiet voice, "You have my word. I promise after we've scoped out your place, I'll leave you to your own devices. _If_ Maddox hasn't shown up. If he has, all bets are off."

Seemingly satisfied, she grinned mischievously at him and teased, "In that case, don't you think you'd better finish getting dressed?"

He looked down at his clothes. Although he was dressed in his regular uniform of dark-washed jeans, button-down dress shirt and jacket, his ensemble was still incomplete. Wiggling his toes, he lifted his head and grinned at her sheepishly. "Guess I can't go out in public without shoes, huh?"

Kate shook her head. "Preferably not. The last time you went shoeless on the streets of New York you were almost shot!" A sudden light danced in her hazel eyes. "Although, now that I think about it that _does _have a certain appeal . . ."

"Hey," he protested, "I wasn't in any real danger. The guy's safety was on the whole time, remember? Besides, if memory serves, I wouldn't have been in that predicament if a certain _detective_ hadn't handcuffed me to the car."

She rolled her eyes. "Nice try, but I'm not taking the blame for that one, Castle. I didn't _make_ you take off your shoe." She stepped away from him, heading for the door to his office.

"Always has to have the last word," he muttered under his breath as he stooped down beside his bed to retrieve his shoes. "File that under useful information."

"I heard that," she called as she exited the room.

He raised his voice intentionally as he retorted, "A case in point!"

A fraction of a second later he heard her voice drift back, "Shuuutttt up!"

Not quite able to suppress the smile that formed on his mouth, his blue eyes twinkled in unabashed delight. God, I love this woman! Kate Beckett may have her flaws, but she is still the sexiest spitfire I know. And she _does _have to have the last word! Shaking his head, he trudged over to his dresser, pulled open his sock drawer and selected a pair. I don't know what the future holds for us, but I know I don't want to miss a thing.

Just as he perched on the edge of his bed to put on his socks and shoes, she suddenly rematerialized in the doorway to the bedroom. Sweeping him in a quick glance, she teased, "Come on, Cinderella. _Tempus Fugit_. If you don't come on, I'm leaving without you."

He laughed. "Are you always this bossy in the morning, Doll?"

"Castle."

He looked up at her. "What? Now I'm not allowed to call you that, either? It isn't food, you know."

"No," she agreed, "but after seeing your _other_ doll, I'm not sold on that term either."

"Hah, hah. Very funny, Beckett." He slipped on his shoes and bent to lace them. "I'll be ready in a second." True to his word, he straightened and scrambled to his feet. Smoothing his shirt and jacket, he gave her a boyish grin. "Will _I _do?"

Why does he have to be so damned adorable? she wondered, her hazel eyes, brown in the overhead lighting of the loft, softening as she returned his grin with a small smile of her own. Cocking her head to one side, she furrowed her brows as though the verdict were in doubt. Then, biting down on her lower lip momentarily, she replied with a simple, "Uh-huh."

His face fell. "Do I look _that _bad? Is it the maroon? I told Alexis I thought it was too dark with my ruddy complexion."

All it took was a quick look at his crestfallen expression and she relented. His eyes, twin pools of deep blue, looked surprisingly anxious. I didn't realize he was so sensitive, she told herself, almost but not quite ashamed of tormenting him. With a soft sigh she admitted, "You look fine, Castle."

"Fine?" he frowned, not liking the adjective at all. Fine won't do, he told himself, pausing momentarily as he debated whether to change his shirt. I should have gone with the purple one. I _know _she can't take her eyes off of me when I wear that one. He lifted his eyes to her face and noted her expression. It was soft and sweet, shy and feminine. Making his decision, he flashed a reassuring smile as he walked toward her.

She drew in her breath as he stepped up. Like metal to a magnet, her eyes, irresistibly drawn, locked with his as the now-familiar feeling of heat spread across her cheeks. Great! she thought mirthlessly, I'm blushing. Again! What is it about his eyes that turns me into a silly schoolgirl? It's not like I haven't seen them before! We've been working together for nearly four years now. You'd think I'd be used to them, used to _him_.

But the truth was, despite their familiarity, there was something new in the deep recesses of his eyes when he looked at her. It was difficult for her to put her finger on just what that was. They had always been expressive. At times sparkling with interest and at others dark and mysterious, they were ever-changing and absorbing. Yet, as she stared deeply into them now, a new look settled in them, unsettling her. Then it came to her. For the first time in their relationship, his ardor, devotion and passion was unguarded. Tilting her head, she stared into his eyes again, this time with rapt fascination, her own eyes widening in wonder, green flecks starting to blend with the brown.

Castle was equally disconcerted, for Kate, unaware her eyes were telling stories of their own, had never looked lovelier. For the first time, she was truly standing before him without a single wall, without any armor, without any defense. Inching closer to her, he was careful not to break the spell. He could actually hear her breath hitch, could see her pupils dilate. A slow, teasing grin unexpectedly spread across his face. Amusement lightened his eyes to the color of the Caribbean as he gave an almost inaudible chuckle.

"You're staring, Kate," he informed her, his hushed voice dripping with irony.

The words were enough to shatter her absorption and bring her back to the present. Her mouth hung open momentarily before she snapped it shut again. Her cheeks, already flushed from before, turned a dark, betraying red. When Castle chuckled again, thoroughly delighted by her flustered reaction, she glared at him, but the look didn't hold any heat.

Pausing to allow her to precede him into the living room, he switched off the light in his bedroom and pulled the door closed behind him. "That's okay," he teased again, "I'm used to leaving people speechless."

"You are so full of it, you know that?" she retorted.

"So, for the record, when I stare at you, you're allowed to call me on it, but when you get caught doing the same thing to me, I'm not supposed to draw attention to it? How's that fair?"

She laughed. "Life isn't fair, Castle. I'd have thought you'd have learned that by now."

Shrugging, he let it go. He was just content to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to know she was happy. Tentatively reaching for her hand, Castle threaded her fingers through his own then gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Ready?" he asked, smiling down at her, "Or do you want me to fix breakfast before we head out?"

Kate arched an eyebrow. "After the horror stories I've heard from Alexis I think I'll pass. I'd rather take my chances with the street vendors."

He pouted. "Wow, there's no loyalty left in this world is there? My own daughter has turned against me!"

That produced a soft, musical (for her) laugh. "Come on, Castle, you can't really blame her, can you? Marshmallows, chocolate and _eggs_? She probably thought you were trying to poison her!"

Bristling, he tried to withdraw his hand but she tugged on it, pulling him toward the door.

"I _can_ make a decent breakfast, you know," he defended as he waited for her to step into the hallway. Pausing only long enough to close his door and lock it, he added, "You didn't complain the last time I made you pancakes. In fact, as I seem to recall, you enjoyed them so much you were pressing me to whip together another batch before Ryan and Esposito arrived to ruin everything."

His memory supplied a sight and sound picture of the event. Concerned for her well-being after learning Kate had been targeted because of his books, Castle had insisted on staying over at her apartment, to insure her safety. After a restless night spent on her couch he had risen earlier than usual and prepared breakfast for them. The setting had been intimate, perfect, until she had asked for the morning paper. One dead body and a swarm of detectives later, he had found himself trying to explain the innocent scene of domesticity to Ryan and Esposito.

I didn't mind their ribbing so much at first, he admitted to himself, because—damn it!—I _wanted_ the situation to be the way they imagined it had gone down. But Esposito kept pestering me, arching his eyebrows, giving me those sly, speculative glances which clearly stated he wasn't buying the truth. And then . . . His eyes turned turbulent as he scowled. And then he cracked that infamous cheap shot about the pancakes. _Pancakes are an edible way of saying "Thank you so much for last night."_ His face flushed again, just as it had then. He ruined pancakes for me! I can't make them for Alexis without thinking about it!

Kate, watching him surreptitiously, noted the heighted color in his face and knew without being told what he was thinking. She laughed softly.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I was just thinking about that time, too. You know, Sweetheart, you and I have very different memories of that morning." The term of endearment slipped out unconsciously.

That's because I shielded you from Ryan and Esposito, he told her silently, but aloud he managed, "I don't doubt it."

Pressing the button to summon the elevator, she shot him a quick glance. "Believe it or not, Castle, that morning happens to hold a lot of fond memories for me. When I went to bed that night I wasn't sure I could wholly trust you. When I woke up and found you fussing around the kitchen any doubts I had were gone." He lifted his eyes to meet hers and she gave him a shy smile as she finished, "I've trusted you completely ever since."

"Completely? Even after Montgomery, after _I_ kept the deal and my connection to Mr. Smith a secret from you?"

The elevator doors parted, but as she was about to move into the lift, he tugged her hand, holding her back. He wanted an answer and he wasn't willing to wait.

Sensing his need for reassurance, Kate stopped, allowed herself a small sigh, and said seriously, "I trust you, Rick, one hundred percent. And I don't ever want you to doubt it again."

"Kate," he breathed unevenly, emotion roughening his voice. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she sidestepped into the elevator.

"Come on," she urged, "We need to go."

His sigh, deliberately petulant, was long and drawn out. "Sometimes I get the feeling you enjoy toying with my emotions, Beckett."

She grinned wickedly. "Sometimes? Try _all_ the time, Castle."

"You, my dear detective, are a mean, cruel beast," he informed her earnestly, but the lighthearted expression in his eyes belied the insult.

"I've been called worse," she informed him, then flicked her eyes to the top of the elevator doors as the numbers above lit up in descending order. Less than a moment later they were walking, still hand in hand, through the lobby and out into the drowsy Sunday sunrise.

After they procured coffee and muffins from a nearby sidewalk vendor, Castle quickly hailed a cab, holding the door open for Kate before sliding in behind her. Then, leaning forward, he gave the driver the address and sat back again. She immediately reached for his hand, her fingers lacing with his, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Comfortable?" he asked quietly, unwilling for his voice to carry in the front of the cab.

"Mmm," she murmured, "Perfectly."

It was almost a full minute later when she lifted her head and took a long sip of the steaming coffee. It was scalding hot, but she felt better after drinking it, more alert somehow. Her brain kicked into gear; her thoughts became clearer. The familiar taste of vanilla, mixed with the richness of the coffee blend was just exactly what she needed. Her mouth curved up at the corners out of sheer pleasure.

I love the way she loves coffee, Castle told himself, treasuring the moment in his heart. I would willingly finance all the coffee plantations in the world just to keep her plied, just to see that spectacular smile. Like a man dipping his toe in a lake to gauge the temperature of the water, he tentatively brought his cup to his lips and carefully drew in a miniscule sip. It was still a little too hot for comfort. He winced then blew a few times on the opening of the lid in an attempt to cool it.

"How are you able to just drink this?" he asked in awe, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

Deliberately taking an additional gulp, she replied, "Easy. It's conditioning, Castle. I've been drinking freshly-brewed coffee first thing in the morning for nearly twenty years now. Your problem is that you're too soft. You're used to waking up at eight, nine, ten o'clock in the morning. You're pampered, spoiled even."

"There's nothing wrong with liking the finer things in life," he shot back. "And for the record, I haven't slept in since I started shadowing you. Speaking of that, why is it people pick the most God-awful moments to report crimes?"

She laughed. "Why do people kill other people when they ought to be in bed?"

"Beckett, you're absolutely brilliant! Do you realize you've just done what no one else has ever thought to do? Prevent murders before they happen!"

She gave him a curious look, but when she caught sight of the devil dancing in his eyes, she had a sneaking suspicion she was in for a touch of torment. "I'm almost afraid to ask . . . but, what are you talking about?"

"Well," he drawled, "if people would just spend more time in bed together there would be far fewer murders. See, Beckett! Sex saves lives! Passion eliminates crimes of passion!" His comment elicited a chuckle from their cab driver and a roll of the eyes from his partner. Taking a victory sip of his coffee, he screwed up his face as the hot liquid scorched the roof of his mouth. "Hell, that's fiery-hot!"

"And that's where you came in," she quipped, enjoying his misery.

He gave her a sour look which just made her laugh again. Then, to her surprise, his expression changed and he pouted, poking out his lower lip.

"You could catch rain on that thing, Castle."

"You're _supposed_ to kiss it to make it feel better. That's what kind, _sweet_ women do."

"You are such a _baby_, Castle!" Despite her scathing indictment, she angled toward him and placed a soft lingering kiss on his mouth then, sitting back, asked, "All better?"

He nodded dumbly. Whatever comeback he had prepared flew out of his head. I can't believe it, he told his bemused mind, She actually _kissed_ me—in a taxi!—in _public_! A glazed, dewy look came over eyes as he gave into his private moment of wonderment. Hold on to this moment, he instructed himself. You may never have another one like it.

Indeed, the taxi ride—and therefore the intimate flirting—came to an end much too soon. As the cab pulled up at the curb in front of Kate's apartment complex Castle scrambled out first, offered her a helping hand, then leaned back into the taxi to pay the driver. There was no need to ask him to wait. Within twenty minutes a plethora of taxis—checkered, yellow or otherwise—would be littering the streets.

In the meantime, Beckett tossed her empty coffee cup in a nearby waste receptacle.

Holding the bag with the muffins in his left hand and Kate's hand in his right (she was now holding his coffee for him) Castle was content to let her lead the way into the building. The doorman, a pleasant enough man of Indian heritage in his mid-twenties, saw them coming and had the doors open for them. Sweeping them in a quick, all-knowing glance, he greeted them by name.

"Good morning, Detective Beckett! Mr. Castle, good to see you again. Early case this morning?" He looked down at their hands, still entwined.

Kate felt her cheeks flushing again, but she met the doorman's eyes steadily. "Not exactly, Jai."

"Actually, Jai, I'm just seeing Detective Beckett home. As a perfect gentleman, I couldn't let our first date end without seeing her safely to her door." Castle wiggled his eyebrows at the younger man before steering Kate past him and toward the elevators.

Waiting only until the doors closed behind them and she selected her floor, she wheeled on him. Her eyebrows knitted together and her eyes blazed as she laid into him, "What the hell was that, Castle! Do you have _any_ idea what you just did?"

He gave her his most innocent, cherubic expression and prayed it would be enough to defuse the bomb he felt certain was about to detonate. Putting out his free hand to brace himself on the rail, he waited for the explosion.

"You can't tell Jai that sort of thing," her tone changed from one of attack to a quieter, deadlier one. She was serious, as serious as he'd ever seen her.

"I think when he saw us holding hands he kinda put two-and-two together, Kate."

She waved that away. "I don't care about _that_! I don't care what Jai guesses; I'm not responsible for his assumptions, whether right or wrong. But now he has that information, Castle."

"Why should that matter?" he asked, confusion etched on his face. "Is this relationship going to be a big secret from everyone on the planet?"

An overwhelming feeling of déjà vu came over her. Didn't we just have this conversation a few hours ago? Didn't I reassure him then I'm not ashamed of our relationship? She sighed and forced patience back into her voice. "You've missed the entire point. If Maddox is watching my apartment, the first thing he'll do is scope out what the doorman knows. Jai's a very friendly, very talkative guy, Castle. The first hint of interest Maddox shows in talking with him, he's going to open up like a rosebud in spring. Before, all Jai could tell him was that I keep erratic hours because of my job—information Maddox already knows. But now—" she paused, biting her lower lip to conceal an involuntary quiver before finishing: "Now Jai can tell him we're dating."

And then he understood. All of it—her anger and her concern were for his benefit. She didn't want him involved or endangered. For a moment, his eyes locked with hers and he thought he could see all the way into her shadowed, haunted soul. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, never looking away. "I didn't think. And you're right; it _was_ reckless."

She dropped his hand to run hers through her hair. Castle recognized the movement as something she usually did to buy time while she thought of what to say. This time, however, she surprised him. "I don't think he knows about you," she said softly, raising that same hand to his face. Her touch was gentle but it still managed to thrill him to his toes. "I've been through hell, and I've come out on the other side, Castle. I've lost my mom. I've lost almost everyone else close to me: Montgomery, Royce, and in some respects, Dad. I've dealt with it—I've dealt with all of it. But I can't _deal_ with _losing_ you." She paused for a mere second then choked on her next words, "Not _you_."

Unwilling for him to see the tears welling in her beautifully expressive hazel eyes, Beckett turned away from him. Not wasting a second, Castle put out a hand, took her arm and turned her back to face him.

"Oh, Kate," he whispered hoarsely, "You're never going to lose me. Not to Maddox, not to anyone. I love you."

He took more than her breath with the words: he took her whole heart. And it was enough.

He gathered her into his arms and covered her mouth with his, kissing her with all the passion of the night before. That kiss was reassuring, gentle and possessive all at once, yet it was also something more. Something so achingly sweet, patient, and tender it brought another wave of tears to her eyes. And then she knew it was true. His love was big enough, strong enough, encompassing enough that nothing would tear them asunder. Not petty misunderstandings, not secrets, not even outside forces like Maddox.

As he lifted his head to look at her again, his breathing quick and uneven, she began to tremble uncontrollably. Please, God! she prayed fervently, Help me keep it together until I get inside the apartment. Please don't let me break down here!

As though the Almighty were granting the desire of her heart, the elevator dinged, breaking the intense, intimate moment. Seconds later the brakes caused the box to jerk before smoothly coming to a complete standstill.

When the elevator doors parted, Beckett was the first one through them. Castle hesitated only a fraction of a second before following her. They walked down the hallway in silence. Far from awkward, the stillness between them was comfortable. In fact, for the first time since leaving the taxi she felt herself starting to relax. Her stiff muscles, especially in her neck and shoulders, eased up on the tension causing her to hope rather than believe the knots in them were starting to loosen.

But when they drew even with the door to her apartment, she froze as a wave of apprehension swept over her, overwhelming her senses and turning her skin to gooseflesh. Shivering, she admonished herself: Don't be ridiculous, Beckett, the door is locked and it doesn't look like it's been forced open. Everything is fine. It's not like Maddox is going to be calmly waiting to kill you on the other side. Pull yourself together! Castle is going to think you aren't emotionally equipped to handle anything. First you start to break down in the elevator; now you wig out before you even get inside your place! Narrowing her eyes, she dug in her pocket and produced her key.

Beside her Castle kept a diligent watch on her face, worry causing deep lines on his forehead. He sensed her uneasiness, but was powerless to help. Putting her hand on the knob, she started to turn it, but he laid a hand over hers.

"Maybe you should let me go in first. Just in case," he volunteered, straining to keep his voice light and casual. The last thing he wanted to do was unnerve her further.

That was enough to snap her out of her irrational fears. All of her training and instincts kicked in and Detective Kate Beckett was back. Rolling her eyes, she snorted, "Yeah, right! And since when have I _ever _let you enter an apartment in point position? Forget it, Castle." With that she automatically put her right hand to her hip where her weapon used to sit. The absence of it strengthened her resolve; she threw open the door and stepped inside.

To her immense relief, everything looked the way she had left it. Stepping to the side to let him enter, she moved toward the kitchen counter where she set down his coffee. Sure enough, her banker's box with all of the things she'd brought from the precinct was still there, untouched. She frowned. Not _quite _untouched, after all. The parade of ivory elephants, something she always kept on her desk to remind her of her travels, was poking up, visible over the rim of the box. She was certain she hadn't left it that way.

You're just jumpy, she told herself, willing the cold finger of Fear to stop pressing down on her spine. No one has been here. Nevertheless she was unable to shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

"Everything just the way you left it?" Castle asked, turning on one of the lamps in the living area. He absently picked up her throw pillow, the one with the embroidered smoking gun, and held it up. "Still packing heat, I see."

She smiled at that. "Thanks for reminding me, Castle. I should probably check my Glock."

His blue eyes smoldered as his mouth curved up boyishly. "You are so sexy when you talk weapons, Beckett. So, just out of curiosity, where do you keep it? Under your pillow? In your nightstand? I know—your underwear drawer! Want me to help you look?"

She rolled her eyes again. "Sorry to disappoint you, Castle, but you aren't getting into my drawers, underwear or otherwise. Just stay put." Walking over to her bookcase, she removed three hardback books, all in dust jackets, and reached behind them.

"You keep your weapon behind your books?" His tone was incredulous. Without saying a word, she passed the books to him. He glanced down, saw the title on the top one, and his mouth curved up in appreciation. "Classic! And I'm flattered, my dear detective. What better place to hide your firearm than behind _In a Hail of Bullets_?"

"Glad it meets with your approval," she grunted, as much for effect as from the effort of reaching into the space. Then unexpectedly she frowned in bewilderment. Her fingers strained to reach the slick black case that should have been there. Should have, but wasn't. A wave of pure nausea rippled through her as her earlier suspicion hardened into conviction. At some point, someone had been in her apartment and stolen her gun. She dropped her arm to her side and turned to face Castle.

Reading her expression, he knew in an instant something wasn't right. "Kate?"

"It's gone, Rick." She put out a hand helplessly then dropped it to her side again. "He's been here."

"You don't know that, Kate. You could have just moved the gun yourself. Forgotten where you put it. Maybe when you took it out to clean it the last time. Maybe it's by your television or something." He looked around the living area again. His eyes widened. "Oh, my God! Kate, whoever stole your gun stole your TV, too!"

"I hate to break it to you, but I don't own a television," she told him dryly. "And I always put the gun back after I clean it. No," she continued, pacing now, "Maddox has definitely been here. This has his hallmark stamped all over it, Castle."

He noted the vein standing out prominently on her forehead, the dark circles under her eyes, and the strain in her face. Instantly making a decision, he swiftly crossed the living area to stand beside her. "Let me try. You know, sometimes all you need is a tall, ruggedly handsome man with long arms . . ." He reached into the space and felt along the shelf before finishing his sentence. ". . . to find things for you." Pulling out the black box, he presented it to her with a sweet smile.

"Thanks," she said simply.

He shrugged. "What would you do without me?"

Fall to pieces, her eyes told him, but her mouth said, "I don't want to find out." She opened the box, removed the Gen4 Glock 17 and proceeded to check it. The clip was full, a single bullet in the chamber. Satisfied everything was as it should be, she replaced it. Looking up, she caught Castle with a priceless expression on his face. "What?"

"I can't begin to tell you how incredibly hot you are with that gun," he murmured.

"Castle!" her voice was laced with exasperation. "Cool it!"

_Cool it_, she says, like it's that easy. He smirked. "I can't exactly flip a switch, Doll."

Her eyes, scorching lasers, zoned in on him as she glared. But, when he flashed her an engaging, lopsided smile, she was charmed in spite of herself. Feeling the beginnings of another blush creeping up her neck, she turned away from him and walked over to the dining room table where her laptop was set up.

As he watched her walk away, amusement lightened his eyes. For some perverse reason of his own, he was thoroughly enjoying the newfound power he held over her. It still amazed him that 1) she had held her gun in her hand and hadn't shot him, 2) she blushed every time he complimented her, and 3) he had gotten away with calling her "Doll" without her making a comment. Improvement, he told himself, encouragement making his spirit spread its wings and take flight.

Meanwhile Kate stood in front of her laptop, a frown marring her otherwise serene countenance. Something about it looked off. Didn't I leave the lid closed when I left yesterday afternoon? I could have sworn . . . She shook her head, amused at herself. Snap out of it, Beckett! So you forgot to lower the lid. Big deal. The jump drive is still there. If Maddox had been in here, wouldn't he have taken that with him? But despite her mental pep talk, she was left with the nagging impression something wasn't right. Like a perfectionist who can't help but straighten a crooked picture in someone else's place, she couldn't leave it alone.

Pressing the power button, she waited for the screen to come to life. Her eyes fell to the ribbon on the bottom of the screen. As her finger moved across the touchpad, navigating the cursor to the file folder icon, she gave a small gasp. It had that tell-tale box around it, indicating the application was open. Suddenly a knot formed in her stomach. I _never_ leave any of my programs open!

"Castle, come here," she commanded, her voice urgent.

Having retreated from the living room to the kitchen to collect his coffee (it was finally at a drinkable temperature), he was just raising the cup to his lips when she spoke. Inadvertently jumping at the sound of his name, he managed to splash coffee in his eye. Wiping the moisture away, he made a face. Smooth, he chided himself. So, so smooth, Castle! He glanced over at Beckett. Apparently she hadn't seen it happen. Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked over to join her.

"What's up? Oh, nice picture, Beckett!" He was looking at the image on her desktop, a vivid picture of a jellyfish against a very blue backdrop.

She cut her eyes over to him. "It came with the computer." Then, straightening up, she pointed, "See that? I never leave that open. Someone has been messing with my computer."

He frowned. "Are you sure? When I'm writing, I leave tons of documents and files minimized. I find it saves time, especially if I have to go back and check something."

Pursing her lips, she frowned again. "I'm sure, Castle. I usually leave things minimized too, but only while I'm working on the computer. But I always close out everything when I'm through." _And lower the lid_.

He looked pointedly at her flash drive. "And do you always leave your memory stick in your computer, too?"

"If I don't need to take it with me," she answered automatically. "Castle, I know I sound like a crazy woman, but I'm telling you—"

"You aren't crazy," he interrupted, "Your nerves are on edge. It's understandable, Beckett." Giving her a reassuring smile, he encouraged, "Open it. All your files have time stamps for the last time they were accessed or saved. If someone was on your computer, that'll tell us."

"Okay."

Opening the application, she dragged the cursor over to the drive and clicked. A millisecond later a list of the files appeared onscreen. Castle leaned forward, his eyes quickly scanning the names and times.

"When was the last time you personally worked on these?"

Crossing her arms, she sighed. "I pulled up the one on Montgomery yesterday afternoon. I was going to delete it, but . . ."

"You couldn't quite bring yourself to do it," he finished for her.

Afraid he was upset, she purposefully kept her eyes averted from his face. "I'm planning to get rid of everything."

"Kate, look at me."

She lifted hesitant hazel eyes to his face. To her surprise, he wasn't angry or hurt, just sweet and understanding. And she released the breath she didn't know she had been holding.

Castle studied her quietly for a brief moment then said, "You know that big murder board I keep in my office? Of course you do, stupid question. I had all of our notes on it. Tons of files, all the information fanning out in a web of conspiracy and lies. Months—_years_—of hard work."

She looked at him in astonishment. "You created a murder board of my mother's case?"

His blue eyes were troubled, suddenly unsure how she would take it. "Yes. But you have to understand," he rushed on, "I wanted to protect you! I thought: _What if I can solve this thing for her_? Then you wouldn't be in the line of fire! The Dragon wouldn't be able to come for you, and . . . I could potentially save you from yourself. By giving you the answers you so desperately wanted, I thought I'd be able to give you the closure you deserve." He faltered, whispered, "I'm sorry. I had no right."

She placed a hand on his arm. "No, Castle. I'm not angry, just—surprised. I, uh, I think it's sweet."

His spirits lifted. "You aren't going to shoot me?"

She smiled. "Not for that."

Wrinkling his nose at her, he said, "Very funny." Then letting his eyes fall back to the screen, he returned to the pressing issue. "So, when was it you accessed Montgomery's file?"

Tapping her chin as she tried to remember, she closed her eyes. "I left the precinct around five, came home, deposited my belongings on the counter, changed out of my work clothes, and then pulled it up—so, around quarter to six."

"How many USB ports does your laptop have?"

"Three. Why?"

He held up his left index finger. "I want to try something." Fishing in his pocket for his keys, he produced his own jump drive. "I take mine with me everywhere I go," he explained simply before sticking it in the computer. Quickly highlighting the files on her drive, he copied them to his. "Huh."

She looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"It didn't change the time on your documents."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Positive. Well, there went that theory."

Her eyes, usually so clear, were clouded with anxiety. "So, hypothetically, someone could have inserted his own drive in my computer, copied the files from my stick, and we'll never know?"

"Yeah, looks that way. Of course, we could always get someone at the 12th to take a look at it." He ran his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry, Beckett."

She tried to laugh it off. "Don't worry about it, Castle. It was a good idea. You're probably right, anyway. My nerves _are _on edge. I wasn't exactly in a good place yesterday afternoon. It's more than likely I just hit the wrong button and didn't close it out." She didn't really believe that, but it was better to reassure him than to give into her irrational fears again. "Even if someone _did_ make a copy of my files, he wouldn't have gotten anything damaging. I never save work documents on here, and everything on my mom's case is still over there." She nodded her head in the direction of her louvered shutters.

"That's a relief."

Biting her lower lip, she thought long and hard. "You know what? I think I'm going to take it down."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Are you sure you want to do that? Kate, you don't have to—"

"Shh. It's okay, Castle. I want to do this. I told you I was walking away from the case and I meant it. I have to let this go. I can't afford to keep it hanging over me." With determination she marched over to the window and pulled open the shutters. Then she froze as unimaginable, unspeakable terror ripped through her body. She stood there, her entire being trembling with a mixture of shock, fear and something akin to indignation.

"Looks like someone beat you to it," he said grimly, standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders, steadying her.

All of the doubts, all of the suspicions that her apartment had been infiltrated by the enemy were confirmed. Surprise gave way to cold anger as her hazel eyes, brown and darkening by the second, blazed. The feeling of personal violation left her reeling, but she forcefully thrust her vulnerability aside.

"It's gone, Castle. All of it is gone." Her tone was surprisingly flat, emotionless. Then with a surge of fury, she said, "_Maddox!_"

She turned to look at Castle squarely in the eyes. He saw the fire burning in her eyes, saw the stubborn set of her jaw, and for a fleeting instant had an urge to shield himself from the intensity. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he spoke, his voice calm and clear, "You can't stay here, Kate."


	3. Night at the Round Table

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews/favorites/alerts! They are such an encouragement! **

**As usual, a lot of research went into this chapter, though most of it never appeared on the page. The Algonquin Hotel really exists, in Times Square, and really did play a large role in the post-World War I literary movement. Also, the people mentioned in connection with the Round Table are authentic. As a point of interest, there is actually a five-star hotel in the same area called The Muse . . . Isn't that just ripe for the picking? **

* * *

Night at the Round Table

"You can't stay here, Kate." Richard Castle's words, spoken in a calm, clear tone, left no room for doubt.

"He came into my apartment, Castle," she said slowly, the fire still blazing in her beautiful hazel eyes, "Into my _home_."

"I know," he said evenly, holding her by the indomitable purpose in his eyes, "Which is _why_ you can't stay here. We need to call this in. Gates needs to—"

She shook her head adamantly. "Absolutely not, Castle! Forget it. We can't prove Maddox was here. Hell, two minutes ago you thought I was simply on edge, that I was imagining things! If I call in a B&E, I'll have regular unis in here asking me questions I can't in good conscience answer. What am I supposed to tell them?" She paused for breath then plowed on, "There was no sign of forced entry, Castle. And, apart from the notes on the case, nothing has been taken."

"That you know of," he cut in smoothly, trying to reason with her. "Gates needs to know, Beckett. You have to have police protection! If it was Maddox who broke in here last night he knows where you live. He can come for you at any time." His blue eyes darkened. "I'm not going to let you just stay here, waiting for him to show up so the two of you can finally have your showdown."

The moment the words were out he knew he had made a grievous mistake. All of the color drained from her face. Even her lips whitened as she stepped back from him. While he watched, her body seemed to close down, to fold into itself. Suddenly the bruises, which hadn't seemed so terrible after all, were standing out in deep purpley-blue patches. But it was the wounded look in her eyes—the hurt he had unintentionally put there—that really troubled him.

What did you do? he asked himself in sudden alarm. Do something, genius! Say something! Reassure her you didn't mean for it to come out that way! But instead he just stood there dumbly, his eyes raking over her face, taking in the damage his idle words had caused.

Beckett continued to stare at him in stunned bewilderment. How can he think that? After everything I told him last night, after the promise I made to walk away from this case, how can he think I would willingly just toss it all away!

The feeling of violation at having her home invaded was nothing to the anguish she felt in Castle's lack of trust. What did you expect, she berated herself. Have you ever given him a reason to think you'd put your life—much less a chance of happiness with him—ahead of this case? Look at your actions over the past few days. When he told you how he felt, when he told you he loved you, what did you do? You just bluntly rejected him. You made it clear going after Maddox was more important. Naturally he's going to believe that is still your priority. Did you honestly believe he would jump to any other conclusion? She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but the only outward sign of her self-disgust visibly manifested itself in the form of a scowl.

Taking a long, slow, deep breath, she asked, "Is that what you think, Rick? You think I'm just going to—"

"Throw away your life for the chance to get Maddox, to get a _name_? Now why on earth would I leap to that conclusion, Beckett?" The stinging words were out of his mouth before he had time to filter them. It was like throwing verbal salt into the wound. He saw her wince then lower her eyes from his face. Horrified by his deliberate attempt to cut her, his mind taunted him, So much for your promise not to throw her choices back in her face. Look at her; look what you've done!

"I don't blame you for thinking that. But for the record, I meant what I told you last night." Her voice was much too quiet, much too measured.

"Beckett," he started, reaching out a hand to touch her. She stepped back, out of his reach. "Kate, I didn't mean . . . I'm so sorry!"

Swallowing back a sob, she shook her head, muttered, "Forget it, Castle." Pushing past him, she headed in the direction of her bedroom. When she reached the doorway she paused to look back at him over her shoulder. He was just standing there, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his brow furrowed. She saw the regret, the self-recrimination in his eyes and relented. "Look, Castle, I know what you think about me. You've just made it abundantly clear I'm not to be trusted. That's fine." Bitterness tinged her next words, "It's not like I've given you any reason to have faith in me. But I'm through with not talking about things."

"Beckett—"

She held up her hand. "I'm not finished, Castle. The _reason_ I can't call this in has nothing to do with pursuing Maddox. So far as I'm concerned he got away with it. But I can't afford to have officers in here, questioning me about missing case files I'm not supposed to have in the first place. Do you understand how much I would have to explain?" Her troubled eyes fell away from his face momentarily then swept back, veiled in a fringe of dark lashes. "Once I start on that explanation, _everything_ comes out: the conspiracy, the cover-ups, Montgomery. _Everything._ I'm not willing for that to happen, Castle. Are you?"

"I'm not willing for you to make yourself a target, Kate," he said evenly. "You said Ryan filled Gates in. She already has this information. Just call her. She can order police protection for you."

She almost laughed at that. "Aren't you forgetting one teeny-tiny detail, Castle? I'm not a cop anymore. I'm a private citizen. She can't just order police protection for me because I think my apartment has been searched by a phantom assassin."

"A phantom assassin working at the behest of the Phantom Menace," he commented absently, the corners of his mouth quirking up involuntarily. Then, as his eyes lightened, he suggested, "You know, maybe that's the answer, Beckett."

She just looked at him. "Really? You're going to stand there and try to sell me on the idea that the answer to this case, to my mother's murder, is that the Phantom Menace is responsible? Unt-uh. I'm not buying it. Darth Maul did not kill my mom."

"Actually, Darth Maul wasn't the titular Phant—"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't care, Castle." Turning to enter her bedroom, she stopped again and swiveled around to face him once more. "Look, your wild theories are quasi-cute on most cases, but not this one. Cole Maddox is real. The bullet he put in my chest was real. The man he works for—_real_. Rick, the threat he poses to you, _because of me_, is real, too."

"Don't you think I know that?" His voice dripped with desperation. "That's what I've been trying to tell you, Kate. You're in real, serious danger here."

"What gave it away?" she retorted sarcastically, lifting her chin characteristically. Quickly closing the gap between them, she moved to stand in front of him. "The milk's been spilt, Castle. Let's not cry over it."

He shot her a sour expression, but he understood her sentiment. The truth is there isn't much to go on here, he reminded himself. Even if she called it in there's nothing Gates can do about it. Maddox is much too careful to leave evidence behind. And Beckett's right; she can't report what he stole without bringing down the entire house of cards. His mouth tightened as he considered the options. Even if Gates was informed I doubt the woman would care enough to do anything to protect her. What's more, now that Beckett has resigned, Gates probably wouldn't be bothered with her one way or another. His eyes darkened from a medium blue to indigo. Well, if _she_ won't do anything to keep Beckett safe, I will! There is no way in hell I'm going to leave her unprotected.

He looked down at her, his eyes burning into hers. "Come back to the loft, Kate. My building is more secure than the White House and my doorman, unlike Jai, isn't a blabber-beak. His mom raised him well; he doesn't talk to strangers." That witticism produced an unwitting smile from her. Pressing his advantage, Castle put his hand on her arm, the touch sending small electric currents flowing through them both. Softening his voice, he pleaded, "Please, Kate, I have to know you're safe."

She held his gaze momentarily before lowering her eyes again. When she spoke the words came out in a hushed tone. "I have no intention of staying here."

He closed his eyes and sighed in relief. "Good. Then you'll come home with me?"

At his use of the word "home" she stiffened. "No. Absolutely not. Do you really believe I would knowingly, willingly put you in danger? There's no way for me to know if Maddox is tracking me, Castle. It's not worth the risk. Not to you, not to Alexis, not to Martha. I won't stay here but I'm not going back to your place either."

There was a note of steel in her voice, a clear sign she would brook no arguments. A brief, awkward silence fell between them.

Beckett retreated, standing half in-half out of her bedroom, but her eyes never once left his face. You have to understand why I can't go back with you, she told him silently. I've already ruined Esposito's life. I will not endanger yours. I'll admit I've made plenty of mistakes, but this is one I can avoid.

That's the best I'm going to get out of her, Castle realized with a sigh of resignation. It's better than nothing. If she won't come back to the loft . . . He studied the look in her eyes momentarily and knew her answer about that was final. Since she won't, his mind amended, I'll get her into a secure safe house of some kind. At least then I'll know where she is. And I'll be able to arrange some semblance of protection for her. Now, where do the Feds put people they want to protect? He sorted through and discarded several ideas before landing on a feasible one. Perfect! he exalted, Of course she'll baulk at the suggestion, but it's a compromise we can both live with. Pleased with himself, his smile returned as his incurable optimism was restored.

"Are you absolutely dead-set against coming back to the loft?"

A stony glare was all the answer he received.

"I figured as much," he admitted, nodding his head. "Alright, then I'm going to put you up in a hotel."

"Castle," she started to protest, but the glint of determination in his eyes successfully derailed whatever she had intended to say.

"Just hear me out before you launch into a protest, Beckett. What good is there in having all the money in the world if I can't use it to keep the woman I love safe?" Walking purposefully toward her, he pulled her into his arms, leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. "We're partners, Beckett," he added, dropping his voice to an intimate, near-whisper, "I'm in this with you for better or worse. I get that you don't want me involved, that you're terrified something might happen to me or my family, but that ship has sailed. So far as I'm concerned, you're a part of my family now. I protect what's mine, Kate. I always have and I always will. Besides, I'm the one who knocked over that first domino, remember? This is my mess just as much as it is yours."

Blinking furiously, she tried hard to hide the raw emotion his words produced. He was being sweet again—too sweet. She drew in her breath quickly, determined not to give in to her desire to lose herself in his arms, to press her mouth to his, to wrap her arms around his neck. Uncomfortably aware of her reaction to his nearness, she tried valiantly to find a way to break the spell.

Keep your head, Beckett, she cautioned herself, well aware she was in the middle of an emotionally dangerous moment. If you don't say something casual you'll fall to pieces, and you know you can't do that. Not yet, not while there are still so many unknowns, not while Castle may be in danger.

She managed a smile. "For better or worse, huh?" she quipped, forcing her voice to lightness, "Proposing so soon?"

She bit her lower lip in that tantalizingly sexy way which tempted him to lose all control. His eyes focused on her mouth and suddenly he found it difficult to remember his name, much less what she was saying. All he could think about was his urgent need to crush her mouth under his. And then her words registered and he lifted his head.

Beckett's smile widened as she grinned at him wickedly. Then, just to toy with him, she arched her eyebrows mischievously.

"For better—" he started then stopped. His face flamed red as he tilted his head to look at her, his eyes widening as realization set in. "Did I say that?"

She gave a low, sensual laugh as she teased, "Freudian slip?"

"I, uh . . ."

"That's the _second_ time that's happened to you." She smirked, amusement turning her hazel eyes a perfect blend of brown-green.

He couldn't help himself; he stared. His own eyes, unguarded and filled with awe, softened. After a long moment he finally managed to ask, "When was the first time?"

She gave a low, sexy laugh. "You don't remember suggesting we get hitched?"

"Did I do that? When was—? Wait just a second! Are you referring to our conversation just a few short minutes after we were rescued from that man-eating tiger?"

Nodding, she corrected, "I am, and it wasn't 'a few short minutes,' Castle. We were already back at the precinct!"

He flushed hotly. "You're the one who started it, Beckett." Adopting a high-pitched feminine voice, he intoned, "_But next time let's do it without the tiger_."

To his surprise, she laughed outright. "Wow! Wow. Castle, I had no idea your memory was slipping that badly! I distinctly remember that being my _parting_ shot, not my warm-up."

Barely suppressed amusement danced in his eyes, but he deliberately kept his voice neutral as he said, "That's what I was talking about earlier—you always have to have the last word."

"Mm," she murmured.

"See!" He pointed at her. "That right there! That constitutes a word. And for the record, I stand by my statement. You definitely started that conversation. I may not remember word-for-word how the topic of being _cuffed_ came up, but I know for certain you broached the subject!"

"The topic was _hitched_, Castle, and it came up when I mentioned our experience was the weirdest close-call I'd ever had. You agreed with me—rare, I know—and then you said, and I quote, 'But I'll tell ya, after that experience, if I ever had to be hitched to someone, it would be you.'"

His eyes widened in surprise as his mouth curved up in an engaging grin. "I'm flattered, Beckett. I had no idea you hung on my every word. That's remarkable! You remember a conversation we had nearly six months ago practically verbatim. Tell me, do you recall _all_ of our conversations in such detail?"

Damn it! Her cheeks grew hot as she realized she had inadvertently betrayed her absorption in him. Knowing she had revealed too much about herself, she quickly tried to cover. "Only the ones in which you dig yourself a hole," she retorted, parrying hastily, "They're particularly memorable."

Folding his arms across his chest, he gave her a look which clearly said he wasn't buying it. "Right, Beckett. Keep telling yourself that. You know full well you hang on my every word—printed or spoken. There's no need to deny it."

Her face flooded with guilty color but she refused to yield the point. "Ha! This from the man who usually goes on and on about the pitfalls of fame and how his adoring public—which, by the way, I haven't seen in quite a while—is always bothering him? You do realize I usually tune you out don't you, Castle?"

"Ouch! You really _are _a mean, cruel beast! That hurts almost as much as a paper cut." His eyes clouded and he poked out his lower lip in a pout. "Why do you enjoy hurting me so much?"

She was immediately contrite. Apologizing earnestly, she said, "I'm sorry, Rick. That wasn't my intention. I was trying to tease you, not—"

She broke off at the change in Castle's expression. He flashed a grin that was pure seductive devilry which completely took her breath away. Catching the twinkle of mischief in the recesses of his eyes, she tried unsuccessfully to look away. The audible thump of her accelerating heartbeat did nothing to ease her embarrassment; she savagely wished the stupid thing would shut up.

"Kate, Kate, I can't believe you fell for the oldest trick in the book!" he teased, delighted by the fresh wave of color staining her cheeks.

"And you call _me _the beast? You _brute_!" She pushed him away then stormed into her bedroom. "You're unbelievable!"

"I know," he chuckled, totally delighted by her reaction. Then deciding it was time to end the game, he poked his head into the room and looked around. She was standing in front of her closet, one hand in her hair, the other wrapped around her midsection. That's her pensive pose, he told himself, recognizing it as the one she employed when she was stumped. "Need help?"

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes then returned her attention to the contents of her closet. "I'm trying to decide what to pack."

Coming to stand beside her, he stole a quick look at her face and was immediately reassured she wasn't angry or annoyed with him. Relaxing, he suggested, "You might as well be comfortable, Doll. You're going to be holed up in a hotel room, not out and about shopping in SoHo."

Rolling her eyes, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not planning to stay away for a long period of time, Castle: a day, maybe two at the most. But you can be assured I'm not going to just sit still, watching daytime television in a ratty pair of sweats with my hair pulled back in a ponytail."

His eyes flickered to her soft auburn hair. The long, gently waving locks framed her face, making her seem simultaneously vulnerable and strong. With the bedroom's overhead lighting the natural red highlights running through the varying shades of brown were more pronounced. The temptation to reach out and touch it was almost overwhelming.

As though sensing what he was thinking, she shot him a withering look. "Don't even _think_ about it, Writer Boy!"

"What?" he protested, lifting both hands in an innocent who-megesture, "I wasn't going to do anything."

"Right," she scoffed, both hands landing on her hips, "Of course you weren't."

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked up on his toes. "Scout's honor."

"Uh-huh. I'm not going to fall for that one again. You were never a scout."

"You really _do_ remember everything I say, don't you?" he teased again, his eyes sparkling now.

"Castle!" she exclaimed in exasperation, "Can you please focus for one minute!"

Extracting his hands from his pockets, he held them up in surrender as he apologized, "Sorry. Now, what were we—" he broke off for the space of a heartbeat then came back with, "Oh, that's right! We were picking out your clothes. I have to say, Beckett, I like this aspect of our partnership. I haven't had the opportunity to select a woman's clothes since . . ." he trailed off, considering it, "Uh . . . Since _you_, actually."

She glared at him. "You have _never_ picked out my wardrobe."

"Ah, but you're forgetting." He held up a finger as he grinned at her. "I picked out the gown you wore when we went undercover at that fundraiser."

She looked at him blankly, intentionally dense.

"Jewel thieves? Celebrity auction? Anything?" he queried.

"Oh," she shrugged noncommittally, "That one."

He arched his eyebrow. "Yes that one. You know, Beckett, I still haven't fully forgiven you for not coming to my rescue. You have no idea how much torture that evening caused me."

Laughing at him, her mouth curved up at the corners as she teased, "Poor, poor baby! Life is so tough for a bestselling author."

"I knew I shouldn't have expected you to understand," he sniffed, pretending to be affronted, "Only a person who has suffered the tortures of the damned can appreciate the horror of being bid on by members of both sexes and then having to give the winner an 'evening to remember.'"

She turned to face him fully. "Uh-huh. Only a person who's suffered the tortures of the damned. And what do you think I was going through, having you shadowing me all over New York?"

He grinned at her. "Come on, Honey, you know you loved it!"

Immediately her eyes narrowed into slits and her mouth compressed into a fighting line. Without warning she reached her right hand up to his nose, pinched and twisted. "I _told_ you—_don't _call me that!"

Writhing in pain, he twisted in his effort to get free. When that failed, he whined, "Apples! Apples, apples, apples!"

She released her hold on him. "Are we clear?"

He rubbed his nose with both hands, not bothering to look at her. "I think you dislocated my nose!"

"Castle!"

Keeping one hand on his now-red nose, he dropped his other and glared at her. "We're clear: no food names."

"No exceptions."

He nodded then repeated, "No exceptions." He was quiet for a moment then unexpectedly smiled sweetly and crossed his arms. "You know, Kate, I have two consolations from that night."

Her expression softened as she looked at him curiously. "Two?"

He sniffed (apparently his nose still functioned) then nodded. "One, I fetched the highest bid of the night." She rolled her eyes but he continued anyway, "And two, I managed to snag a dance with the most beautiful woman there."

His blue eyes, intense and unwavering, bored into hers. There was no way for her to mistake his meaning. Reading between the lines, she was startled to realize that for all of his lightness, he was being serious. He really _did _view his dance with her as a highlight of the evening. The knowledge was both overwhelming and empowering.

"Honestly, my dear detective, when I picked out that dress for you to wear, I never thought you'd sweep me off my feet. The moment I saw you I was bowled over. Stunned. And it was a particularly uncomfortable feeling for me," he admitted, his voice husky.

Two lines cut between her brows. "Why?"

Taking her hands in his, he looked down at them, refusing to meet her eyes. "Because I knew that night I was in real danger of messing up the operation. It was hard enough having to do surveillance, fend off my mother, and dodge pleas to donate to a hundred different charities, all while wanting to do nothing but dance with you." He laughed softly to himself. "But that was nothing to my determination to ward off any and all admirers out to snap you up. I even considered unfriending the mayor! Only for a moment, though."

"Castle," she started but he wasn't quite through.

"I don't expect you to believe it. But it's true. And it was killing me not knowing where you were keeping your gun!"

She laughed in spite of herself. "I'm still not telling you."

He shook his head. "I'd rather you never tell me. Sometimes the fantasy is more fun than knowing."

And suddenly everything from his adorable confession to his unwavering sweetness washed over her. With an urgency borne out of her desperation to show him just how touched she was, she leaned forward unexpectedly and kissed him lingeringly on the mouth. Surprise momentarily paralyzed him. He was simply too startled, too stunned to react. And seconds later, too aware of a reciprocal wave of desire. Her kiss was thrilling; it created a riot of sensation filled with tenderness and passion so heady he almost lost all sense of space and time. Dropping her hands, he slid his arms around the small of her back, pulling her tighter. Then, when breathing became a necessity, he released her.

They stood silently at the door to the closet, each drawing in a ragged breath. Their eyes, locked and searching, danced together in perfect unison. And then Beckett gave him a naturally radiant smile, a smile that started in her soul and fanned out to her smoky green eyes before finally coming to rest on her lips.

Stirred to his very core, the best Castle could muster was, "May-maybe I sh-should select all your evening clothes in the future."

"Yeah, well," she began, her face flooding with lovely color as her eyes dropped from his, "speaking of that, I really _should_ get packing." She shot her right hand through her hair, a reflexive gesture she used to buy time, and then glanced toward the upper shelf in the closet. "I have a bag up there I can use. Can you pull it down, Sweetheart?"

He saw the one she meant and easily lifted it down for her. "So," he hedged, a demon of mischief dancing in the depths of his blue eyes, "does this mean you're going to let me go through your drawers after all?"

Her mouth curved up at the corners. "You have the highest hopes and the lowest mind I've ever encountered, Castle. You really do want me to shoot you, don't you? What the hell am I supposed to do with you anyway?"

"Love me?" he suggested, batting his eyelashes at her.

She laughingly shoved him aside. "You want to do something for me? Go back to the kitchen and warm up the muffins. My stomach's starting to rumble and I assure you, Cranky Kate is not who you want to see this morning."

"Oh, I think Cranky Kate has already made an appearance," he informed her, rubbing his nose again for effect. Then, noting the withering look she tossed in his direction, he quickly added, "I'll have them ready in no time."

Waiting until he left the bedroom she swiftly flew into action. Taking only long enough to change her clothes, she set to work. Ten minutes later she emerged, her overnight bag and toiletries case packed, and a spare pair of boots tucked under one arm.

Castle looked up as she entered the kitchen, greeted her with a smile. "Ready for the muffins, Doll?"

She sighed. "There's nothing I can do about you calling me that, is there?"

He shook his head, said seriously, "Nope. You're just going to have to live with it. But don't worry: I'll still try other names out on you." He winked at her. "Just not edible ones."

"As soon as we eat I need to call my dad," she informed him as she deposited her luggage and boots in a nearby chair. "I want to tell him I resigned myself."

Castle propped his elbows on the counter as he watched her unwrap the muffin. "So, that was one of the errands this morning? Going to see your dad, I mean?"

"Mm, these are delicious!" she emoted, carefully sidestepping his question. For some private reason of her own, she didn't want to reveal her intended destination just yet.

He took the hint and ate the rest of his muffin in silence. While he understood and respected her desire to tell her father about her decision to resign, there was something about it that troubled him. Now why is that? he wondered, his brows knitting together as his brain tried to pluck out the splinter. It isn't her telling Jim. If I were in her place, the first thing I'd want to do is let Alexis and Mother know I'm safe. So then what is it? As the mental splinter pricked again, he sighed.

"Something wrong, Castle?"

He looked up, saw her watchful expression, and shrugged. "I'd say no but I'd be lying. I don't think it's a good idea for you to call your dad now, here."

She set her muffin on the counter and stared at him as though he were an alien life form. "Why the hell not?"

I don't know! I just don't know! his mind yelled. But instead of saying that, he looked away. His eyes landed on her laptop and suddenly everything fell into place.

"You can't call him, Kate." He shot his hand through his hair then rushed on before she could protest. "Short of physically following you around what's the easiest way for Maddox to track your whereabouts?"

Her brows furrowed as her eyes darkened from a smoky green-gray to a rich, dark brown. The shadows in them gave her a haunted, hunted look. At the reminder of Maddox's looming threat, she grew more somber than before.

"Maddox is a professional," she said at last. "I don't know how, but he managed to find out where I live. The next logical step is to assume he's tracking me via the GPS signal on my phone."

"So if he's doing that you can't very well make an outgoing call to your dad. Not on your phone, anyway."

She met his eyes, made her decision. "Okay, I agree with you. I can't call Dad from my phone. In fact, I ought to leave it here. Let's let Maddox assume I've taken the day off, resting after our little encounter."

_Little encounter_? He arched an eyebrow. It's a damned miracle she's not dead! Not dead . . . Hmm. Lifting a hand to his chin, he rubbed it thoughtfully. Maybe Maddox believes she is! He glanced over at her. "Say, Beckett, he may just be working under the false assumption you're dead."

"I don't think so," she said slowly, mentally reviewing her showdown with the hired assassin again. "He bolted when he heard the approaching sirens. The man is cautious, Castle. I'm sure he knows by now I'm alive and kicking."

He slapped a hand to his forehead. "Of course he does, damn it! He wouldn't have come here, searched your place so carefully if he thought you were dead."

Another, more troubling thought rose to the surface of his mind. Suddenly an overwhelming feeling of anxiety and fear rippled through him. His voice took on a strained, strident tone as he ordered, "Beckett, we need to leave. Right now!"

She stared at him in consternation. "Castle, what's wrong?"

The color drained from his face as he shook his head, but two hot, blue flames ignited in his eyes. "Right now, Beckett! _Right now!_"

Without waiting for her to throw away her trash, he grabbed her hand and, practically dragging her around the kitchen counter, scooped up her bags, boots and purse, and unceremoniously propelled her toward the front door.

"Castle, will you wait a— Oof! _Oww!_ That was my knee, you idiot! God, you're worse than Maddox!"

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Sorry, Beckett. Do you want me to carry you?"

"No!" She shot him a dirty look. "But you don't have to drag me either! I'm perfectly capable of walking!" Extracting her hand from his, she leaned over and rubbed her knee furiously. "Besides," she grunted, "I have to get my phone out of my pocket."

Minutes later, once Castle had Beckett safely settled in the backseat and her belongings safely stowed in the trunk of the taxi, and had given the driver the address, he was finally able to sit back and relax. Concern darkened his eyes as he gave her a sideward glance. She was staring straight ahead, her mouth a straight line, her eyes shadowed under her drawn brows. Even with a fierce expression on her face, she looks lovely, he thought.

"How bad is your knee?" he ventured after a minute of silence.

She turned to look at him and the worry lines on her forehead faded; she even managed a smile. "I'll be okay, Castle. What's one more bruise?"

"I'm sorry about that," he apologized again, "But I just had to . . . We were talking, and then suddenly it occurred to me if Maddox _is_ keeping tabs on you, he would have bugged your apartment."

Her eyes widened in sudden fear. "Damn it, Beckett! You should have thought of that! Rick, if my place is bugged, he's going to know about _you_!"

He waved that away. "I'm not worried about that, Kate; I'm more concerned that we may have said something that will lead him to where you'll be staying."

She reached for his hand. "I don't think we did. All you said was that you were going to put me up in a hotel room. You never said which one, and there are literally hundreds, if not thousands, in the city. He's going to have his work cut out for him if he tries to find me that way."

"You're sure?"

She looked at him strangely. "He isn't God, Castle. Maddox doesn't know everything; he isn't omniscient."

He squeezed her hand. "I know that, Kate. That wasn't what I meant. I just wanted to be sure we haven't compromised your safety."

"I'm positive," she reassured him. "You didn't name the hotel. In fact, you _still_ haven't told me where we're going."

To her surprise, he chuckled softly. "You mean you didn't pick up on the address I gave our driver? 59 West 44th Street?"

She gave him a blank look.

"Nothing?"

"I know this probably will come as a shock to you, Castle, but I don't have the street addresses of every four- and five-star hotel in the Times Square area memorized."

He hung his head in shame for her. "I don't know what's more disappointing: you not knowing where we're going or the fact that you don't have a mental rolodex of hotel addresses."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Funny, Castle. So, are you going to keep me in suspense or are you just going to spit it out?"

"Hmm. That _is_ an interesting suggestion. Keeping you in suspense is so much fun!"

"_Cas-tle!_"

He gave her an adorably devastating wicked smile. "Come on, Doll! Aren't you going to let me enjoy this?"

To her great dismay she found she was starting to blush again. What the hell is the matter with me! she fumed silently, He didn't even give me a compliment! She looked away.

"It isn't often I get to play a chivalrous knight to a damsel in distress," he confided quietly, leaning in to whisper in her ear. His breath, hot against her face, sent a thrill through her.

In an effort to get her rioting pulses back under control, she twisted in her seat to get a better look at his face. "A knight? Really? That's a bit overly dramatic even for you, Rick."

His grin widened. "You know you love the cheesy lines, Kate. Besides, if you want me to tell you where you'll be staying, you're going to have to put up with my buildup."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, get it all out of your system, Writer Boy."

"Thank you," he murmured then drew back from her. "As I was saying, Beckett, I don't get a chance to play knight very often—even though I _have_ saved you more times than you've saved me—"

"Don't start again!" she interrupted, her intense brown eyes narrowing at him.

"Shush. My point is I thought the perfect place for you to stay the night is in one of New York's finest fortresses. A genuine writer's castle—as it were. Back in the twenties and thirties, New York's most illustrious wits, playwrights, critics and columnists formed one of the most cherished institutions in the city: the Algonquin Round Table. Just picture it, Beckett," he encouraged, his face glowing with the subject, "Right there, in the lobby of the hotel, men like Robert E. Sherwood, Robert Benchley, and Alexander Woollcott met with women like Dorothy Parker and Edna Ferber to exchange literary and cultural ideas and opinions! Did you know the Vicious Circle met in the Rose Room daily for over ten years? Ten _years_!"

She smiled in appreciation of his enthusiasm. He's _so_ cute! I've never met anyone who can get so much pleasure out of a literary folk legend. Her eyes sparkled as she asked, "Ten years, huh? And they never tired of each other's company?"

He wiggled his eyebrows. "Let's just say the men never tired of Dorothy Parker's company. _Ever!_ I'm pretty sure she had her way with at least three of the regulars. But something more important than a romantic fling emerged from the Round Table, Beckett. A real, genuine post-World War I literary movement. Without this group, Scott Fitzgerald would never have been inspired to write _The Great Gatsby_. Hemmingway would never have put pen to paper!"

"Or drink to mouth," she cut in dryly.

He grimaced. "You have me there, but we wouldn't have _The New Yorker_, Broadway would never be the same, and jazz music may never have taken off. Needless to say, I could put you up at the Plaza; I could book you into a suite at the Waldorf. But why would I do that when the safest place for you is my home away from home?"

She laughed. "I thought that was the 12th precinct."

"Touché." He grinned at her then confided wistfully, "After the early reviews of my first book came out I imagined myself to be among the literary elite. I had visions of knocking back Algonquin cocktails while making pithy remarks about other writers." He shook his head. "It didn't happen, though."

Studying him shrewdly, she asked, "What happened?"

He shrugged. "Black Pawn had me on too tight a schedule of book tours, readings and signings. Six months after it hit the presses, _In a Hail of Bullets_ was up for the Tom Straw award, effectively sucking any leisure time I had into the dark, bottomless vortex of oblivion."

She gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze. "Sorry you never got to live out your fantasy, Castle."

"There's always tonight," he told her earnestly, then wiggled his eyebrows at her for effect, "Trust me, Beckett, the fantasies I have about you are far sexier. In fact . . ."

Whatever he had been about to say dangled as the taxi abruptly slowed and threaded its way to a stop in the midst of Times Square. Peering out of the window, Beckett drew in her breath as she took in the façade of the towering, legendary hotel. Its name scrolled in white script against a black backdrop struck an impressive note. Green awnings, shading twin picture windows on either side of the main doors, both had a large cursive A on them. Gingerly opening the car door, she stepped out of the cab and waited for Castle to scramble out behind her. A minute later, with her belongings in tow, they headed for the lobby.

"Subtle, Castle," she muttered as she reached for his hand.

"What?" he asked flashing her an engaging grin, "I doubt Maddox will think to look for you here."

The interior of the famous hotel was just as impressive as the exterior. It had a chic, sophisticated 1920's feel to it. With ample space to simply sit and soak up the atmosphere, the lobby was dotted with individuals and couples. Directional signs pointed the way to the elevators, the bar, and the hotel restaurant. On one side of the lobby was a gift shop, its display windows littered with Penguin classics, caricature posters of members of the original Round Table, a large spread of Dorothy Parker memorabilia, and other assorted items from the hotel's storied past.

The check-in process went smoothly enough. While Castle arranged for the room Beckett stood silently at his side.

It wasn't until they were in the elevator headed for the eighth floor that she finally found her voice. "Perhaps, Rick, one night at the Algonquin won't be so bad after all."

* * *

**Thoughts? Was Kate's apartment really bugged, or is Castle on a paranoia trip? Let me know . . . **


End file.
